


The Dance

by emlee2



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Catholic Guilt, Demon Keith (Voltron), Demon/Human Relationships, Demons, Dom/sub, Enemies to Lovers, Gratuitous Smut, Its fucking Absurd, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Not Beta Read, Overstimulation, Priest Shiro (Voltron), Priests, Rough Sex, Self-Lubrication, So much smut, Switching, Tail Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:09:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24046426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emlee2/pseuds/emlee2
Summary: Somewhere within himself, Shiro finds the courage to turn and face him. Keith is leaning against the headboard, legs crossed and shoulders open, his head tilted and a crooked smile pulling at his lips. The normal indigo of his irises are clouded over, replaced pitch black that cover his sclera and reflect the light of the candles around him.His eyes rove over Shiro’s body, clearly removing the robes in his mind while he takes his lower lip between sharp white teeth, “Daddy forgive me, I’ve been very bad.”
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 64





	The Dance

**Author's Note:**

> 666 follower thing from twit but like,,, 200 followers late.

_I will not have you without the darkness that hides within you._  
_I will not let you have me without the madness that makes me._  
_If our demons cannot dance, neither can we._

-Nikita Gill, _The Dance_

The halls of the cathedral thrummed beneath Father Shirogane’s feet, returning the sound of his footfalls to him while the nuns rush to maintain his flank. He is calm and assured, a bible and rosary in one hand and a crucifix in the other. The glow of the sconces paint the dark halls in warm light. 

The Mother Superior fills him in on what he doesn’t know- the smith, a dear friend of Shiro’s, had gone astray on his journey home from collecting iron and had stopped by the black tower. Her hands, twisted with age, are clasped with thumbs pressed to her forehead, “He brought home with him the demon of the tower, Father. His poor apprentice is beside himself in the sanctuary. In all my years of knowing him, I have never seen him pray so fervently.” 

Shiro stops and turns to her, one of the nuns behind him stumbling over her feet to stop and spilling the holy water onto the floor in her effort. He narrows his eyes at her but says nothing as the fear of retribution settles on her features. There are still many years of healing to be done from the priest before him. He returns to Mother Superior, “He is strong, tell the boy not to worry. Keith will be fine.” 

The old woman leaves for the sanctuary and Shiro waves along the young nun, asking gently, “Have you witnessed an exorcism, sister?” 

She shakes her head, trembling so much that the basin ripples in her hands, “No, Father, I have not.” 

“You do not need to stay if at any point you are frightened,” he offers, voice soft.

“Thank you, Father.”

They come to the door that holds the demon behind it and she shivers, “Is it cold, Father?” 

Shiro nods, “The air around a demon is always chilled.”

“Oh,” she said, “yes of course. Chilled.” The nun paused, “Father I—”

He takes the basin from her hands, nodding to the end of the hall, “You may go, sister.” 

The nun stumbles through a thank you and flees down the corridor, the heel of her shoes clicking frantically as she leaves. Shiro sighs and heaves the door open with a shoulder.

What meets him was nothing that he had seen in any precious exorcisms- the young man sits against the head board with knees tucked into his chest, head hanging low and hair shrouding his face from view. Shiro set the basin down on the small altar, resting his fingers on the ceramic madonna.

He whispers a prayer and turns to the young man, “Keith?” He asks. 

“Father,” the boy speaks, voice locked low in his throat and quiet from going unused, “Father help me.” 

Shiro hurries to the bedside, setting his artifacts on the thin sheet that covered the mattress. He rests his flesh hand against Keith’s knee, exposed beneath torn fabric and bloodied from the journey from the village to the cathedral. “Oh Keith,” he soothes, “What have they done to you?” His hands are hidden in his lap but Shiro can see the bruising on his wrists from the iron shackles that Keith had cast himself. Shiro cannot see behind the curtain of hair covering Keith’s face, but it is no doubt bruised from a villager that tasted blood and longed for more. 

This would not have been the first time that someone had wrongly accused another villager of being possessed by a demon or holding the powers of a witch. Disputes often ended in accusations that led to violence. Justice was a twisted thing in this town, allowed to run amok by the former priest that had led the church. It broke Shiro’s heart to see it and he had hoped that, with his guidance, he could turn the people towards love and compassion.

It has been years since the last witch trial and even longer since Shiro had been called to perform an exorcism. He had grown comfortable, and yet here Keith was. His skin is hot, likely from infection. And the shame consumes him so much that he won’t even raise his head to meet Shiro’s eyes.

Shiro smoothes a thumb over the jut on the inside of his knee, “Don’t worry, my friend, I will see to your convalescence myself.”

Keith does not raise his head, he only nods. 

To have gone from such friendship between them to _this_ made him ache. Shiro returns to the altar and dips clean linens in the cool water so that he can clean Keith’s wounds. While his back is turned, Keith croaks, “Father, why don’t you visit me anymore?” 

Shiro’s heart sinks, heavy with guilt. “I am sorry, Keith, the church keeps me busy these days.” 

“That’s not what Mother Superior said.” 

“I- I’m sorry?” 

“Mother Superior told me that you have been so bored you tried to sneak into the kitchens. Said you had nearly burned the convent to the ground, last time you were there.” 

Shiro laughs, “Did she?” 

Keith hums, low and smooth, “So if you have time to try and cook, what keeps you from visiting me?” He asks, his voice sharp and entirely unlike him. 

The priest stutters, trying to find the words to explain himself without giving away his… unholy reasons for avoiding him. 

“Is it because you want me? Because you’ve been thinking about me hammering the iron? Pounding steel to my will?”

Shiro chokes on his own tongue, frozen facing the wall and the madonna, the Virgin that delivered salvation. 

Keith laughs, a dark and twisted sound, “Maybe you want to pound _me_ to your will.” 

Somewhere within himself, Shiro finds the courage to turn and face him. Keith is leaning against the headboard, legs crossed and shoulders open, his head tilted and a crooked smile pulling at his lips. The normal indigo of his irises are clouded over, replaced pitch black that cover his sclera and reflect the light of the candles around him.

His eyes rove over Shiro’s body, clearly removing the robes in his mind while he takes his lower lip between sharp white teeth, “Daddy forgive me, I’ve been very bad.”

“Who are you ?” Shiro asked, clutches the rosary beads on the sideboard. 

“You know me father, I’m the same Keith I’ve always been.” The young man says, his knees falling to the wayside. 

Shiro lifts the rosary and steps closer to him, “No, no you are not.” 

The demon inspects his nails, “Come on, now, don’t tell me that you actually believed someone who looks like your every wet dream actually existed without a little demonic flair thrown in for good measure.” 

Shiro takes pause, looking at him. The demon is right, Keith is the picture of beauty, a sculpture of pale skin, toned with muscle far too lithe for a smith. And dark eyes framed with long lashes, hair that almost looks blue if the sun hits it right- Shiro would be committing a sin all of its own if he said that Keith did not cross his mind on multiple occasions in which the priest had found himself alone. 

“Why are you here?” The priest asks, evading the question. 

Keith grins, Cheshire and wicked as he toys with the hem of his tunic, “I was summoned here.” 

Shiro sits on the chair at the side of the bed, placed so that he can give communion to the terminally ill, “By who?” 

“Well he’s long dead now.” 

“At your hand?” 

The corner of Keith’s mouth twitches, “Depends on what you consider my hand, father.” 

Shiro waits, not willing to play the game of a demon. It makes Keith laugh, “Okay, I can get behind a man with authority,” he pauses, “But I would much prefer to be under him.” 

Shiro nods, “An incubus, then.” 

“Incubus, succubus, it’s all the same thing really. Just depends on our mood that day, not my fault you _humans_ wanted to classify it so badly.” Keith lifts the shirt away from his skin, stretching languidly and snapping his knees shut as he makes to leave, “Well, I had better get going. Starting to get a little hungry and since you so kindly had the sisters take me out of the irons, I think I’ll go find my meal.” 

“If you genuinely think I am letting you out of my sight, I will be sincerely disappointed in how demonkind has fallen even further.” 

Keith stands, “Listen Father Daddy, it’s been a great time, really enjoyed taking a walk down memory lane seeing little miss Mary everywhere, but if I don’t get something to eat I’m going to-” The demon attempts to cross the threshold of the room and is effectively knocked onto his ass.

Shiro doesn’t turn to look, he simply plucks a book off of a shelf and turns the page, “Did you think that we wouldn’t have warded the doors?”

“I don’t like you, Father.” 

“I haven’t yet decided if I like you or not, Keith.” Shiro tosses back, matching his attitude. 

The demon stands, walking over to the bed and falling on it without grace, “You going to exorcise me? Send me back to hell?” 

Shiro hums, “You’ll just come back and be a pain in the ass for someone else.”

Keith clutches his chest, “Such language! And from a priest!” He feigns shock, dark eyes fixed on the book Shiro has in his hands, “Thought you guys didn’t like that one.” 

“Enoch is just as much a part of scripture as any other,” he says, still searching for something. 

“If you’re trying to find my name, it’s not in there.” Keith flips onto his stomach, propping his chin on the palms of his hands. 

Shiro spares him a look, “And how would you be so certain of this?” 

“I was there when that one was written.” 

The priest jerks his head up, staring at the demon that grins wolfishly, “Who do you think told Enoch the names of all the watchers, hm?” 

Shiro sputters, “He was a-”

“If you say prophet I think I might puke all over those fancy robes of yours.” Keith blows a long strand of hair from his face. 

“So you-” Shiro pauses, trying to find a tactful way of saying-

“Fucked him in exchange for the names of the angels? Yeah. He was a fun one.” 

“Oh.” Father Shirogane looks at his hands, observes the worn wood of his prosthesis, and closes the book gently in his lap. 

“Oh,” the demon mocks, “So tell me, father, who’s dick am I going to have to suck for you to let me go?” 

He coughs, taken aback by the bluntness of his words, “Excuse me?” 

The demon stretches languidly, “Is it yours? Maybe the nuns are looking for a little hm, release. Should I call the sisters in? Have a little group fun?” 

Shiro’s hand twists in his robes, “Lead me not into temptation”, he murmurs under his breath before speaking more clearly, “I have no intention of releasing you.” 

“So its _yours_ then, hm?” He pulls himself to his knees on the bed, “I won’t even feed, if you’re just looking for a taste.” 

“N-no,” he starts, setting the book on the floor, “No. It is not the place of a priest to take part in hedonism.” 

Keith slides a finger beneath the tie of his pants, teasing at pulling them down further, “How do you want me to spin this for you, father? You can keep me here and starve me, lock me in these walls with your pretty little wards, but I’ll get out.” He unties the knot, the fabric loosening, “And then I’ll feed so much from the people of your precious little town,” the demon slides off the bed, pressing a hand to the back of the chair that Shiro remains firmly planted in, “That you’ll wish you would have caved and made a deal with me.” 

Shiro’s resolve is crumbling, Keith can see it, but he remains indignant, “I do not make deals with the devil.” 

“How about a sweet little demon that’s just looking for a bit of fun?” Keith slides a knee between Shiro’s legs, leaning forward to whisper against the shell of his ear, “Come on, Daddy, I can smell how interested you are.” 

“Interested or not, I will not be tempted.” His cock is straining, painfully hard and so, so interested. 

Keith laughs low in his throat, “I’ll give you one last chance,” he slides the leg over Shiro’s hip, dropping down firmly into his lap and twisting fingers through his hair, “You feed me, _fuck me_ , and I’ll give you all the knowledge you want on top of not sucking your entire town dry, orgasm by perfect orgasm.” 

The knowledge of the demon that led to the authoring of Enoch in exchange for sex. The priest feels his soul twisted, the idea of breaking one vow to fulfill another, to learn the past from a being who was there to watch it be committed to writing, it isn’t temptation. It’s trading damnation for salvation. Shiro’s hand comes up and twists through his hair, tugging his head back, “You do not make the conditions of our agreement.” 

The demon moans and rolls his hips down, “Fuck,” his eyes slide shut, “Name them. Name your terms.” 

Shiro pulls harder, his prosthesis coming to rest on Keith’s hip and pulling him close, “You do not feed on anyone but me.” He pulls him down into his lap, “You do not leave this cathedral without my permission,” Shiro cants his hips up, “You do not feed on me unless I tell you that you may,” Keith is digging his nails into the priests shoulders, panting unevenly, “And in exchange for your meals, I get any knowledge I request.” 

Keith’s eyes flash black, “You have a deal.” He surges forward, sealing it with a kiss. The priest melts into it, returning the fervor in kind. Keith bites hard enough to hurt and clutches the back of Shiro’s neck, rolling his hips frantically. Shiro doesn’t want to admit that the pressure is so good that he could come from this, from Keith writhing in his lap and from his tongue down his throat. He pulls Keith away with the hand still twisted in his long hair. 

“Excellent,” Shiro mutters, breathless. His eyes are still trained on Keith’s lips, red and slick from the kiss. He lifts the demon from his lap, tossing him onto the bed without ceremony. 

The demon spreads his legs, reaching to pull Shiro in, but the priest stands and walks to the door, “I will be back for you later.” 

Keith surges forward with inhuman speed, “NO!” He bellows, running into the warding that Shiro had placed there, “You said I could feed, you fuck!” 

Shiro stands behind the warding, perfectly calm, “Only when I permit you.”

Keith growls, stalking away from the door when Shiro turns to leave. He kicks the bed, sending it flying into the wall. 

——

Shiro makes it to his quarters and slams the door shut behind him, leaning heavily against the door. He nearly thanks God, having not run into a single person along the way from the infirmary, but considering what he’s just done, the deal he just made, he thinks better of it. 

The painful hardness beneath his robes feels like a punishment, a god-given “I told you so” that he should have to sit and deal with until the day that he dies. He slides to the floor, elbows resting on his knees as he digs the heel of his hand against his eye. 

He should seek penance for this- this thing that he has done. He should write to the papal counsellors, lay his sins out on paper in ink, promise to repent and say hail Mary’s until his voice is hoarse. He should take a vow of silence and renew his vow of chastity and pray that it’s enough to cleanse the heavy burden on his spirit- 

He should not slide a hand down his chest and moan at the feeling of coarse fabric scratching at his sensitive skin. Nor should he grasp at his cock and roll his hips against it in a mimicry of what the demon had done, gasping at just how good it feels to have such delicious pressure against delicate flesh. 

He should not give in and part the fabric of his robes, tugging away at the cotton trousers beneath them until his cock is exposed to the chill air of the room. And when he wraps a hand around the base as he did before he took his vows, before he declared himself to be chaste, he shouldn’t cry out. 

Yet here he is, trembling on the floor in a holy place as his hand moves slowly over his cock. The flesh is hot, but the feeling in his core is molten. The priest tilts his head back as his hips jerk forward, a pitiful whine falling from his lips as a feeling long forgotten curls tighter and tighter within him. 

An image of Keith, his dear friend that had been a demon the entire time, flashes across his mind. He’s covered in soot from the stoves, ash smeared over his nose and above his brow. His skin glistens and the muscle, which Shiro had thought was surely from smithing, ripples beneath his skin as he pulls a hand across his forehead to wipe the sweat from his brow. 

The demon was right, Keith was the image of everything that Shiro could have possibly desired in a lover. His hand quickens pace at the memory of kiss-swollen lips drawing away from his own, perfect in every way. 

“K-Keith,” he moans, his hips stuttering as he draws nearer to the precipice. The thought of those lips wrapping around his cock and moving the way his hand does now is enough to send Shiro tumbling over the edge, his thighs twitching with the force of the orgasm as it envelops him. His back arches, head hitting the door with enough force to hurt if he were not so thoroughly distracted. He feels like he’s falling, like the floor has left from beneath him as his hand continues to move over him. His robes are tarnished, the white of his cum a stark contrast against the dark fabric. 

When the feeling of contact on his cock becomes too much to handle, he takes his hand away and observes the sticky fluid on his skin. He resented the heavy price associated with something that felt that good. His heart is racing and he feels lightheaded, but beyond that he feels light in and of itself. His body, scarred as it is from times past, feels no pain. The feeling of the floor beneath him and a dull tingling between his legs is all he that occupies his mind. 

“Heaven help me,” He murmurs, wiping his hand on his chest. 

Shiro strips the robe off, tugging the fabric over his head and throwing it into the basket. His trousers follow as he walks over to his wash basin and stares at his reflection in the mirror above it. The air is frigid during these early months of spring and the higher floors of the cathedral do little to retain heat. His skin is covered in gooseflesh, but as he observes his body he comes to two realizations. The first- taking the vows of a priest can absolve your soul of sin, but the flesh remembers everything. Scars litter his skin, painting the surface in uneven lines that each carry their own story. He was a warrior by all definitions of the term before he became a priest. Acclaimed and sought after within a group of nobility, well regarded as lethal by every one who sought his services. 

The second- he had retained every last ounce of strength that he built up in that time. When he moved, his flesh still stretched with the sinew that shifted beneath it. He still brought with him the force that had once earned him reputation of a demon. Even though he had spent the last decade of his life learning how to cope with demons entirely unrelated to humanity. 

In those ten years he hardly looked in a mirror, and when he did it was not to observe or take notice of his form. He had renounced his vanity and replaced it with chastity.

But with the vow broken, what else was he to do? The mirror beckoned him close, his own figure calling for him to look. To see that, despite years of neglect in favor of study, he still could square his shoulders and look every bit the part of the assassin he once was- it was disheartening and reassuring all in one mottled truth.

He looks at his hand, grimacing at the memory of its replacement. It was the final straw for Shiro, and when the nuns that fashioned him a prosthesis offered him a place within their sacred halls, he leapt at the opportunity. He had no family to worry about, he released his money to the church, and he left his life behind without a second glance. 

The sisters gave him safe passage to study at the seminary, where he put his brain to use for good. Instead of planning raids to collect taxes and using his quick tongue to sway the wealthy in favor of whichever side paid him more, he spent his days studying in the endless libraries. He learned languages from visiting parishioners, first Greek, then Latin, then Hebrew, Spanish and Italian and French until every book in the libraries became accessible to him. 

Was he throwing it all away by doing this, or was he simply opening another book and learning a new language, with all the burdens and intricacies that it carries?

He lifts his head and holds his gaze in the mirror.

No. He was not wasting it, he was researching the original source material when other’s could not. He shoves away from the sink, pulling on thick trousers cut from fine cloth and a high collared shirt that he only wears when summoned to the estates of nobility. It reminds him of the strength he carried when this was a daily occurrence, making deals with demons. 

Only, this demon wouldn’t kill him. 

Father Shirogane strides out of his quarters looking nothing like the man who had started the day with mass and prayer, taking confessions and providing meals to the sick. 

His steps are assured as they echo through the halls of the cathedral, walking down the winding staircase from the attic to the overlook of the sanctuary. Stained glass rose windows with the likeness’ of saints peer down at him as he crosses in front of them. Light shines through St. Thomas Aquinas, casting the sanctuary in a red glow as the sun sets behind painted panes. 

Reason and faith hardly ever go hand in hand. This was not a deviance from the status quo. As Shiro’s footfalls echo throughout the sanctuary, through the halls alongside row upon row of pews, and into the dark corridors leading to the demon that has taken up residence within a holy place, he reassures himself of this. The door is before him.

He braces himself and enters, preparing himself to speak.

The room is empty.

The bed is in pieces, mattress on the floor and frame splintered across the room. The sideboard remains untouched, holy water still very much in the basin and the mirror is shattered, shares of glass moving out from a concentric fracture. Something moves in its reflection and the door slams shut behind him. 

“You smell good,” hot breath ghosts over his ear, “I can tell you didn’t take your vow of chastity very seriously, Father.” 

Shiro tenses, a chill running down his spine in stark contrast with the heat of his cheeks, “You destroyed the bed.” 

“That I did,” the demon purrs, hands wrapping around Shiro’s form, squeezing his chest before sliding down lower, lower, lower, “And you’re next.” 

Shiro whirls around pinning the demon against the wall with a hand at his throat, “This goes on my terms, Keith.” 

“You already had your chance to name your terms.” The demon spits, making to wrench Shiro’s hand away. 

“And I said that if I do not give you explicit permission to feed,” he starts.

Keith interrupts him with a hand pressing into the bulge of his pants, “Maybe I’m not feeling very hungry.”

Shiro holds his ground, “I can see it in your eyes. You’re starving,” he leans in close, nose skimming against Keith’s, “Aren’t you?” 

The demon’s eyes widen, his lips curl away and expose stark white teeth, lateral incisors and canines coming to form sharp points, “I could always rip you limb from limb and feed on someone else. The deal is void if you’re dead.” 

Shiro cocks his head, “What’s stopping you?” 

He presses their lips together, the demons knees falling out from underneath him. Shiro’s hand catches him first, the pressure beneath the demon’s jaw holding him steady until Shiro can wedge a knee between his legs. He pulls away, “You come close to feeding and you can’t even stand. How long did you wait after the death of your last before seeking out your next meal? 

Keith grinds against him, his hands scrambling at Shiro’s shirt, “The pickings have been slim,” he gets it untucked and slides his hands over the planes of Shiro’s chest, “Especially when I’m trying to stay under the radar of a priest that has taken special interest.”

Shiro tightens his grip, “I did not take- ” 

“Please, you stared at my ass so long I thought about fucking with you without a deal just to see what you’d do.” The demon’s hips roll faster, more erratic against Shiro’s thigh. There’s a dark spot forming on his trousers as his breaths come faster and more erratic. 

Shiro presses his arm across Keith’s hips, holding him still despite the demon’s attempts to continue moving against him, “I was not always a priest,” he says. 

“I know,” Keith’s hands scrabble at Shiro’s arm, nails digging into the wood, “I even know your name.” 

If Shiro is shocked by this, he does one hell of a job hiding it. He removes his hand from Keith’s neck and yanks his trousers down, wrapping his legs around his waist as he unties his own trousers and frees his cock from their confines. 

“Fucking finally,” the demon moans, drawing Shiro in with his heels at the small of his back. 

Shiro slides a hand between them and presses into Keith’s ass without ceremony, groaning into the nape of his neck the further he went. He wraps a hand around Keith’s cock and pumps, the feeling of the demon bearing down on him every time that he squeezes him at the base is nearly enough to send him to an abrupt end. 

But it’s been far too long since Shiro had lain with someone, and hungry as the demon was, Shiro wanted it to last. 

He ignores the coiling in his gut as he sets a brutal pace, Keith moaning and twisting his fingers through the father’s hair. “Shirogane, you- ah!” he moans, Shiro felt him fluttering on the precipice of an orgasm and locked his fingers around the base of his cock, staving it off. 

“You- you have to tell me I can,” the demon begs, his hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, “You have to tell me I can feed.” He says again, bucking up into Shiro’s hand.

Shiro presses his lips against his shoulder, opening his mouth to graze his teeth over it and taste the salty sweat.

“T- Takashi Shirogane-” he pleads, his cock leaking.

Shiro releases him and his hand flies back to his neck, “Never speak that name again,” he snarls, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust.

The demon’s eyes roll back and Shiro feels a drop of cum hit his chest where his shirt is open as the demon clenches around him finitely.

Shiro releases his neck with a shove, “You may feed,” he spits, pulling Keith’s hips flush against his as he stutters to a messy halt. 

Keith’s skin somehow gets hotter and, under any other circumstances, Shiro would feel as if he’s getting burned. When Keith opens his eyes, they’re black as coal and Shiro can see his own reflection in them. He looks like someone he longed to leave behind but he bears the expression of someone who is entirely new.


End file.
